


Famelic

by BoomyMcBlasty



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Pre-Time Skip, Sauna, Spoilers for the Black Eagles route, Wet Dream, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomyMcBlasty/pseuds/BoomyMcBlasty
Summary: “I was bested… for a moment.”Ferdinand doesn’t have time for neither horror nor fear. He wraps one arm around Hubert’s shoulders, hooks the other under his knees.“Ferdinand.”“I will bring you to the infirmary.”“Ferdinand, I can walk.”A collection of fragments about Ferdinand's relationship with Hubert and the occasional Black Eagle member.Rated T until the very last scene, which contains some smut.





	Famelic

Ferdinand von Aegir would never punch anyone.

His noble status prevents him from even considering his knuckles as weapons. Squabbles are to be resolved with a debate, or an honorable duel. 

That is what he recites to himself, covered in sweat; the bedsheets coil around his body like a snake, trying to suffocate him. For some reason, his fists are balled and shaking.

He would never punch anyone—yet, in the dream that was his reality mere seconds before, he had slammed his knuckles against Hubert’s face. The thrill of seeing the other man fall to the ground makes his breath short.

It felt good. He felt powerful. 

Ferdinand allows himself to groan, in the privacy of his room.

He can still feel the dream in his limbs, like a whiplash. His wild self had straddled Hubert, landing another jab. Somehow, Hubert’s clothes had disappeared in their savage fight, revealing his pale skin, delicate as porcelain. Remembering his devilish, blood soaked smile makes Ferdinand cover his mouth.

His night clothes are soiled.

Hubert had smeared the blood from his own lips on Ferdinand’s before arching his back and rolling—

_ Absolutely not. _

Ferdinand does not want to remember. Such dreams are uncouth, unfit for his noble character. How will he manage to face Hubert in class?

He frees himself from the treacherous grasp of the bedsheets. Dawn warms his room with bright hues that hurt his eyes. At least he won’t have to stumble over his armor on his way to the dresser. He throws the incriminating evidence of his nightmare on the floor.

Why _ Hubert _ ? Why not the professor, or dashing Sylvain? Even _ Edelgard _is a better candidate for such fantasies than her slimy attendant with no will of his own.

...oh! That’s the reason behind the (innocent enough) start of his dream: the squabble he had with Hubert the other day.

“Does the river of filth pouring out of your mouth ever stop flowing?” 

Those words make Ferdinand want to punch him for real. Instead, he will put on some clothes and go for an early ride before class.

*

His father is imprisoned by Edel—Lady Edelgard, now. House Aegir’s land are seized. The Archbishop is and has always been a beast masquerading as a human.

Ferdinand is terrified. He feels like he’s falling from his steed; has lost the reins of his life and is floating in the air, pulled by higher forces that he doesn’t fully comprehend, ready to shatter on the ground. 

Lady Edelgard enlists the help of her (former) classmates. It’s an invitation. It’s a chance.

Ferdinand accepts it with shaking hands, following her light in the sudden darkness he’s plunged into. 

There are no chairs in the temporary camp. It’s an old warehouse turned hiding spot, while they wait for the bulk of the Adrestian army to join them in their attack on Garreg Mach.

Ferdinand sits on the ground, with his back against the wall. He’s wearing the uniform of the day before. He peels his dirty gloves off and leaves them on his lap, empty and sad.

_ War _. They are at war. He craves a warm bath and a chance to trim his eyebrows.

Something ugly twists inside of him. How childish of him, being concerned with personal hygiene when the death rattles of the soldiers echo in the camp. The smell of Linhardt’s puke reaches even his corner.

“You seem to be under the assumption that you are allowed to rest.”

Hubert offends his ears with his drawl. His boots enter Ferdinand’s field of vision, but he feels too fatigued to fight; he closes his eyes and wishes to ignore him.

A stack of papers drops on his legs and makes him jump in surprise. Hubert’s eyes look particularly unkind from below.

“That is Lady Edelgard’s manifesto.”

Ferdinand shuffles through the papers. Only the first two pages bear the Adrestian seal, the two-headed eagle—the rest of the sheets is blank.

“She used a verbiage fit for the nobility, her intended audience.” Hubert crouches and places a quill and a bottle of ink next to him. “Your task is to produce a version fit for commoners, easy to be recited out loud.”

Ferdinand feels the ground under his legs, the wall against his back. Hubert’s piercing eyes search his face.

Of course. His father trained him (poorly) for that. He is skilled in transforming the original documents for the records and the local nobility into modest and concise passages, easy for the illiterate commoners to understand once heard in the main square.

He takes the bottle of ink in his hands and works it open. “Consider it done.” 

Hubert leaves without a word.

Edel—Lady Edelgard considers the attack on Garreg Mach a victory, yet the professor and countless soldiers lost their lives, Ladislava was injured and...

They had to fight familiar faces. Ferdinand had to slice the throat of Cyril’s wyvern to force the boy to retreat. Even when footed, Cyril still wanted to fight, was still trying to swing that axe too big for his small frame.

Ferdinand feels a knot in his throat. His gloved finger traces a horizontal line on his jugular, a slash similar to the one that ended the life of that majestic wyvern.

“You have weird behavior.”

Petra’s voice awakens him from his pensiveness. The stench of the stables hits him once more; he was supposed to feed his warhorse—yet the bucket of hay lies empty at his feet. For how long has he been staring at the wall?

He produces his best smile for her. “My apologies, Petra.” Fishing the bucket from the ground, he looks around for the hay.

“I am not needing an apology.” She places her hand on his shoulder and stops him from wandering aimlessly.

Ferdinand holds in his breath, relishes the touch. He knows—of course he knows—that Petra understands him. Brigid’s future rests on her shoulders, just like the future of the esteemed House Aegir, now stripped of lands and power by the Emperor. Her father was also…

Petra’s silence is kind. She lets him gather the words he needs to hear himself. “I wish I had your strength.”

Tears prickle his eyes, yet his father is still alive and his House is still somewhat standing. Not all is lost. It’s his responsibility to ensure that it is not lost.

“You do already, Ferdinand.” He mirrors her smile, mirrors her confidence. She nods once she sees his posture return straight. “Working for our future requires many of our efforts. We are in need of you.” 

Petra gives him a reassuring squeeze before her eyes widen. “I was forgetting! Hubert…”

“He requested my presence in his office, did he not?” Ferdinand can’t help but roll his eyes.

Petra nods with a chuckle and lets his shoulder free.

“Thank you, Petra.”

Ferdinand assumes the official-yet-not-ever-defined-as-such position of Imperial Advisor. That, of course, requires working closely with Lady Edelgard and her aide.

Spending so much time with Hubert has changed Ferdinand’s perception of him.

His work ethic is commendable, if not unhealthy. His points, while delivered harshly, are reasonable and sometimes Ferdinand _ has _to agree with him.

He has seen the man smile for Bernadetta. A horrific display stemmed from a good place—Ferdinand didn’t know that Hubert could drop his dark façade and put some effort in appearing approachable.

Hubert is smiling now, in front of the mirror Ferdinand installed in their shared office. Dorothea has cut his hair, and the new, short look doesn’t hide his cheekbones anymore. Sharp, just like his eyes, just like his words—unlike his pleased smile, almost soft. Almost _ cute _, an adjective that Ferdinand never thought he could associate to Hubert, yet the delighted curve of his lips is making his chest tight.

“It suits you.”

The smile vanishes from Hubert’s face the second Ferdinand compliments him. He pretends it doesn’t sting and resumes reading the bi-monthly commander surveys.

They’re one of Lady Edelgard’s innovative ideas; only the worthy can command an army in her Empire of merits. Troops are informally surveyed every two months about their commanders.

“Caspar’s heroics paid off. Did you read his survey?”

Hubert sits at his desk, faces Ferdinand. “I am not surprised that that hot-blooded brigade of brawlers is enamoured of his recklessness.” There is no venom in his voice; after all, Caspar had thrown himself in front of Hubert himself to intercept an axe blow.

Ferdinand skims Hubert’s survey next. His battalion _ adores _him. One note mentions his humor—humor?!

“I wasn’t aware you cracked jokes on the battlefield.”

Hubert gives him a puzzled look and Ferdinand waves the survey in front of his face.

“You’re not allowed to read it, so I won’t mention names, but one of the mages under you command praised your humor, of all things!”

One corner of Hubert’s lips turns upward. The half smile! Ferdinand recognizes it, of course. It’s the grin that Hubert dons when intimidating, threatening or dismissing him. An expression reserved for Ferdinand alone.

He has learned not to take all of Hubert’s words to heart.

“I promised my mages a raise if they managed to make your charred corpse look like an accident.”

Ferdinand blinks once. Than two times. “That… was said in jest. Right?”

He thought they had put their pettiness behind… he feels queasy at the thought of such a dark joke directed at himself.

Hubert ignores him and takes a quill in his hands.

“Are you still upset about our fight?”

Perhaps he knows where the darkness stems from. Hubert had gone against Lady Edelgard’s wishes, after all, and Ferdinand had caught him (and argued with him). It all worked out in the end, yet…

“_ Upset _.” Hubert spits out the word like a distasteful bite.

“My apologies. _ Unsettled _. Does that resonate better with your limited emotional capacity?”

Hubert cuts the conversation short. “We have work to do.”

*

The professor is back. Lady Edelgard’s flames burn brighter, now; her eyes have regained the occasional girlish glint they used to have in their Academy days. 

Ferdinand is glad, if a bit lonely himself.

*

Bernadetta showed him how to tend to the carnivorous plants in the greenhouse. Curious little creatures, fascinating in their own way...

Ferdinand walks back to the stables, admiring the hydraulic works that keeps the fishing pond up and running. It’s thanks to the hundred years old architectural wonder that they can afford to feed their growing army.

A loud splash makes him look at the pond. A tiny hand protrudes from bubbles, the water silences a cry for help.

Ferdinand runs for it. 

He dives into the water, enough force in his movement to pass under the wooden pier. The child is splashing around, struggling to keep his head above the water. Ferdinand acts without hesitation, grabs the child with one arm. One powerful kick of his legs is enough to make him reach the stone ledge. The child holds onto it for dear life, his little face contorted by pain as water comes down his nose.

“Ferdinand!” Caspar runs towards him. “Let me help you!”

He lifts the child up and makes him sit on the ground. “You OK there, buddy?” He crouches and checks on the child.

“Caspar, I am wearing a degree of armor...”

“Oh shit, sorry!”

“Not in front of a child, _ please _.”

Caspar extends his arm and helps Ferdinand out of the water. The air chills him to the bone.

“I’m sorry...” sobs the child.

Ferdinand flashes him one of his best smiles and gives him a light yet manly pat on the shoulder. “You need to be careful, little one, at least until you learn how to swim.”

“I know...”

“You know and you still fell in the pond like a dumb—”

“_ Caspar _.”

His friend doesn’t finish the word. “So, where are your parents?”

“At the market. I was bored…”

Caspar, who wants to have a word with them, decides to accompany the child back to the market square. 

“Thank you for saving me!”

Ferdinand waves to him. Once the two are out of sight, he removes his coat. Hardly a noble thing to do, but he needs to assess the damages and act accordingly. Maybe Dorothea can salvage the coat for one of her operas, turn it into a stage outfit. Its once bright colors are now dull, and transferred to his soaked undershirt.

He must look like a jester, a blur of faded dye.

“How noble of you to dive in the water while wearing armored boots.”

_ Not him. Not now. _ Hubert walks down the stairs of the pond with his arms crossed and a smug smile. Ferdinand is not his well-groomed and noble-looking self at the moment. Hubert must enjoy seeing him at his lowest.

Ferdinand squeezes one sleeve of the coat and colored water drips to the ground. He will not order from that tailor again. “What laces those words of yours... concern? For me?” 

He doesn’t expect Hubert’s answer. “Your death would be a detriment to the Empire.”

He didn’t deny what Ferdinand insinuated. He… justified it.

Ferdinand’s mouth is agape. He can see a hint of color on the other man’s cheeks.

Hubert. Concerned. For him!

Hubert mumbles something and leaves for the dining hall.

*

Ferdinand’s eyes hurt. He’s been reading the same sentence for over a minute, unable to focus on the words dancing in front of him, blurry and faint. He must call it a day. His gaze falls on Hubert, asleep at his desk. The candle light gives his skin a warm color, and the man looks softer, almost… 

Suppressing a yawn—because nobles _ do not _ yawn—he silently stands up and stretches his limbs. His shoulders in particular ache terribly.

It’s unlike Hubert to fall asleep during work. He has been without coffee for a few days, due to some Dagdan festivities that have made the flow of goods between continents slower—that has made his temper worse and his days feel longer.

It’s the first time that Ferdinand sees him so vulnerable. Something in his chest aches.

The Adrestian Empire rests on the shoulders of this man.

He approaches the other man slowly and takes the quill from his hand. He stores it safely, closes the bottle of ink and places it next to Hubert’s sigil. Various papers are scattered on the desk—some bear the Adrestian two-headed eagle, others are written in an incomprehensible script; those are not for his eyes.

Ferdinand stacks them neatly, too honorable to take a peek and too tired to consider reading an enjoyable activity.

Only when Hubert’s desk is finally tidy, he allows himself to steal a good look at him. The usually alert Hubert must be exhausted, to let his guard down like this. His face is hidden by his arm—if only he could move it, so that Ferdinand could take a closer look…

A warm feeling takes hold of his chest. Pride? For what reason?

A gust of wind saves him from further introspection. 

He takes his coat off and places it gently over Hubert’s shoulders. He doesn’t have the heart to wake Hubert up, so the makeshift blanket will do. He imagines Hubert doing the same to him, being covered by the black coat and gently lulled to sleep by the other man’s cologne. His thoughts are moving into dangerous territory.

Ferdinand tiptoes to the window and closes it as silently as possible. On his way to the door, he picks up the empty cups from Hubert’s desk.

Yes, Ferdinand is feeling something warm and comforting, almost reverent. He doesn’t understand why. 

“Thank you for your hard work today,” he whispers before leaving their office behind.

The next day, Ferdinand’s coat is neatly folded on his desk. Hubert is busy elsewhere, yet has already managed to make a mess of his working space.

*

“Dorothea, please, allow me a moment…”

The songstress is dragging him to the Cardinal’s Room by the hand. There will be whispers! Her eyes glitter with mischief—Ferdinand knows it is not a good sign.

“I’m sorry, Ferdie, but Edie said that you needed to be there as soon as possible. That means no stops on the way~”

They encounter the professor on the stairs to the second floor. He mouths a _ good luck _ to Ferdinand, an utterance so bizarre coming from him that Ferdinand is tempted to stand his ground.

“Off to the Cardinal’s Room you go.” Dorothea positions herself in the middle of the hallway, serving as a guard of some sort. “And, if you’ll accept a tip… walk _ slowly _ . _ Silently _, if you will.”

When Ferdinand looks at her with concern, she hurries him with a hand gesture—so he starts walking. Slowly, as instructed, so the metal of his boots doesn’t tinkle on the stone floor.

The door to the Cardinal’s Room is open. He can hear voices coming from inside; one belongs to Lady Edelgard, the other… to Hubert.

Surely Dorothea doesn’t expect him, Ferdinand von Aegir, to eavesdrop on the Emperor of all people he could—

“What do you think of our Ferdinand?”

Lady Edelgard’s question makes his freeze on the spot. 

“Pardon my insolence, Lady Edelgard. May I know the reason behind your question?”

“You two seem to be working well together, yet during official meetings you try your hardest to make him justify every single one of his proposals. I hardly think lowering the seasonal price of carrots warrants a half hour long debate.”

Ferdinand should either leave or announce his presence. He should set an example with his behavior.

“I am simply pushing him to be at his best.”

“Very well. Back to my original question…” Ferdinand can hear the smile in Lady Edelgard’s voice. She must have planned this, with Dorothea’s help. Was the professor’s silent encouragement for him or for Hubert?

“He has matured considerably since our Academy days. He performs his job quite well.”

“Mmh-mh.”

Ferdinand covers his mouth. _ Praise _? From Hubert?! The usual warm feeling engulfs his chest, swallows his neck and cheeks in redness.

“The cavalry adores him, and he is an invaluable asset on the battlefield.”

“What else?”

Hubert takes a while to answer. Ferdinand can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“He is a kind man. Recklessly so… his pure heart will be his undoing.”

“You have nothing but praise for the man. It’s unlike you.” Ferdinand doesn’t have the luxury to process Hubert’s words; Lady Edelgard startles him with another remark: “He is quite easy on the eyes, don’t you think?”

Ferdinand’s breath grows labored. He doesn’t have the right to know Hubert’s answer to that question. He’s _ eavesdropping _. He shouldn’t be listening to Hubert’s honeyed words.

“Lady Edelgard, this almost feels like a trap.”

Because it is! Dorothea is a terrible influence on the Emperor.

“Answer me.” Lady Edelgard’s words are filled with glee.

Hubert is her attendant. He _ will _ answer her. He will _ die _from it; Hubert’s low voice has already expressed a degree of discomfort Ferdinand has never heard before.

He must save Hubert.

“He is indeed—”

Ferdinand strides towards the door, without knocking, making sure his armored boots announce his presence loudly.

“—attractive… prices of the recent shipments.” Hubert’s recovery is almost flawless. He’s standing next to Lady Edelgard, his face hidden by a gloved hand.

“Good afternoon!” Ferdinand is trying his best to feign ignorance. His face burns bright, but he can pretend to have runned. “I believe I was summoned here.”

_ Attractive. Attractive! _

Lady Edelgard’s eyes glitter with delight. “Indeed. Thank you, Hubert, you are dismissed. I want a full report on those shipments before tomorrow.” 

Hubert bows and _ runs _out of the room.

*

Lady Edelgard didn’t manage to get the answer she wanted out of Hubert. After all, he merely told her well-known and verifiable facts about the Aegir heir. 

Her little jest, however, did spur her aide to have a heart-to-heart with Ferdinand. Hearing Hubert praise so clearly and directly made Ferdinand feel dizzy and light.

Things changed between the two of them.

Firstly, they were now having weekly, informal meetings over a cup of tea or coffee. With the war still raging around them, it was hard to focus on easy conversation—they both had strong opinions on hot beverages, a topic they found easy to latch on and that could lead to some delicious sampling.

Secondly…

Ferdinand goes back to his room feeling his muscles ache and burn. He challenged Linhardt to a friendly spar, and the mage sapped away his strength without looking away from his book, until Ferdinand collapsed on the ground. He also refused to restore him, citing it as a character-building lesson.

His door is in sight. At last!

A small piece of paper tucked under the wood catches his attention. He crouches to pick it up, ignoring the cries of his muscles—it’s a card, neatly folded in half.

**Your simplicity is amusing.**

Ferdinand frowns. The handwriting is clear and non-descriptive. He can’t… oh.

Hubert. 

Ferdinand rests his head against the door and reads the note again. The handwriting is different from Hubert’s usual compact cursive. He must feel embarrassed… he must want an easy excuse in case the note is found.  
The card doesn’t exactly feel like a compliment, but Ferdinand still holds it close to his cheek.

The next note takes a week to come.

**You take exceptional care of your warhorse.**

Now this is a compliment, and one that makes Ferdinand glow with pride. He puts the card on his private desk, next to his other small treasure.

**Your insight is what allows commoners to thrive in the Empire.**

The little pile of cards grows slowly, but steadily. Instead of exclusively resorting to their comfort topic—hot beverages—their weekly meetings start to delve into their past, their plans for the future. Ferdinand talks for both and the other man doesn’t seem to mind.

*

The sun is still rising when Ferdinand finishes unbuttoning his undershirt. The sky is clear, the air crisp—he simply _ must _enjoy an early ride.

He leaves his room, light footed. With nimble fingers, he ties his long hair in a low ponytail at the base of his neck.

Next to the greenhouse, a shadow lays against the stone walls. Ferdinand halts, ready to shout, ready to fight, unharmed.

Hubert raises his head and looks at him with unkind eyes. 

Ferdinand hurries to his side, about to speak, when the other man raises a hand. His words die in in throat. Hubert looks awful. Now that he’s closer, he can see that his black clothes are soaked in blood. The bitter stench of death engulfs him. Who does the blood belong to? He’s standing fine, he doesn’t look hurt… yet his eyes, his eyes are empty, devoid of anything that makes him recognizable.

Should he say something? Should he forget about this? Ferdinand is afraid to speak, afraid to say something wrong and shatter what has been building up between them, so he offers Hubert his hand. Hubert looks at it and shakes his head. His gloves are stained as well.

Ferdinand is torn. What does Hubert want—what does he need from him? If he wanted him gone, he would have said so already.

Perhaps he just needs him there.

“What you usually see is a carefully curated version of me.” Hubert breaks their silence with a lower voice than usual. “I am not a good man, despite having tricked you into thinking otherwise. Doesn’t that frighten you?”

Ferdinand knows that he is not allowed to know everything. Lady Edelgard, Hubert and the professor resort to the incomprehensible script when they read some documents in his presence. Those are not for his eyes. 

The war will end soon, yet the three of them speak of it as if it is just about to start.

He despises his ignorance, yet he knows he must wait. He must prove himself worthy of their secrets.

“You are not fooling me. Not right now.”

Hubert crosses his arms. Despite being taller, he looks so fragile. A speck of life glimmers in his eyes. “Do you truly believe you can understand me?”

Hubert is more than a parricidal noble, more than a simple aide, more than an able commander. 

Ferdinand holds his gaze.“I never claimed to be able to understand you just yet.” One wrong answer and their relationship will shatter. It takes all his willpower to withstand Hubert’s gaze.

He wins their standoff. Without a word, Hubert leaves for the second floor of the dorms. Ferdinand recognizes a pattern. _ He’s fleeing _. He lets him.

The next day, Hubert’s words are more mellow, his touch lingers. Ferdinand had chosen his words correctly.

*

The greenhouse grows enough flowers to barely honor the fallen. 

After every major battle, Lady Edelgard places flowers over the graves outside of Garreg Mach. Ferdinand accompanies her today.

So many lives have been sacrificed… and many more will be lost in Derdriu and Fhirdiad. Ferdinand lets the tears fall. His battalion lost a cavalryman in the skirmish. He can still hear the desperate cry of the young man’s mother when she saw him at her doorstep with her son’s helm in his hands.

Lady Edelgard places a gladiolus on a small grave and takes his hand. She doesn’t tell him to stop crying, nor she berates his feelings. She understands. 

“One day this war will end.” She squeezes his hand. “And another one will take its place.”

Ferdinand weeps.

“A war in the shadows, without civilian casualties. A war without soldiers and skirmishes.”

He had heard their whispers. He had seen _ him _. “Hubert’s war.”

“A war for all of Fódlan.”

It’s an invitation—not immediate. It’s a promise. 

“My Emperor… when the time comes, allow me to fight by your side.”

*

A gift purchased for the man Ferdinand fancies; Hubert couldn’t have put it more eloquently.

Ferdinand still doesn’t know who the enemy is, or when the war will end; Lady Edelgard’s invitation emboldens Hubert.

During the day their gloved fingers brush over fine porcelain; in the small hours of the dark, alone in his bed, Ferdinand dreams of shaking a blood soaked Hubert from his torpor, dreams of kissing him against the greenhouse’s wall. His heart is ablaze.

Hubert places a hand on his knee and leans in to innocently whisper something, yet Ferdinand’s mind races, his body shivers hearing his low velvet voice. Inhibited by sleep, Ferdinand dreams of Hubert’s hand trailing his thigh, praising his muscles, kneading and pleasing—

Those debaucherous dreams fill him with shame. Improper, ignoble—he should know better. Desire, for him, is a treacherous man with sharp cheekbones, pale skin and a voice as sultry as sin itself.

“Consider hosting your next tea party indoors, preferably in one of your many private offices.” Linhardt stabs a carrot with his fork and looks at it with a critical eye.

Ferdinand blushes furiously. The dining hall is hardly the place for the conversation they are having. “May I ask the reason behind this suggestion?”

“You two are about to snap.” The mage gives a cautious bite to the carrot before setting down the fork. “Hubert looks like a famelic beast stalking his prey whenever you are around, and you like it way too much.”

Ferdinand tries to compose himself. “Have we caused you discomfort in any way?”

“No, but you will, unless you do something about it.”

Hubert hasn’t kissed him yet (he has done far worse in Ferdinand’s now recurrent dreams).

Ferdinand excuses himself from the dining hall—he flees, a habit he picked up from Hubert.

*

Ferdinand reads the small card in his hands again.

**Your smile is striking.**

Happy tears streak his cheeks. He’s glad he read the note after locking himself in his room, he must look terrible.

He holds the piece of paper close to his heart. For how long have they been courting, dancing around each other in half steps?

Hubert has made his first full step. Ferdinand needs to find a way to make his as memorable as the delightful card he’s cradling in his hands.

*

History has a tendency to repeat itself.

Ferdinand secures his loose braid with a ruffled string and breathes in deeply the crisp morning air. Another beautiful dawn that begs him to go for a ride.

A shadow collapses against the greenhouse.

Ferdinand sprints towards it, no hesitation. 

Hubert looks paler than usual. He’s sitting in a pool of his own blood. Its stark smell makes Ferdinand’s head spin for a second.

“Hubert!”

“Quiet. Our friends are resting.” Hubert wheezes his answer, covering his thigh with his arm.

Ferdinand crouches next to him and lifts said arm, revealing a gash in his pale thigh, still spilling blood, soaking the ruined pants. Horror and fear gnaw at his heart.

“I was bested… for a moment.”

Ferdinand doesn’t have time for neither horror nor fear. He wraps one arm around Hubert’s shoulders, hooks the other under his knees.

“Ferdinand.”

“I will bring you to the infirmary.”

“Ferdinand, I can walk.” What a weak protest.

“Do not feel mortified.” He stands up, carrying Hubert like a bride. Most of the facilities are closed and he needs to reach Manuela’s infirmary through the gardens, which should be empty.

“I have a carefully maintained reputation to upkeep.”

Ferdinand ignores him and starts walking. He knows the patrol routes, since he has designed them himself, knows exactly which parts of the garden he must avoid.

“Will you not ask me about the wound?”

“Am I allowed to ask?”

Hubert rests his head against Ferdinand’s shoulder. The gesture makes his treacherous heart soar, his feet quicker.

“My duty, for once, was to protect, not harm.”

It must be the reason why Hubert is comfortable sharing details about his mission.

“Thank you for your hard work.”

The stairs to the second floor leave him out of breath. Without stopping for even a second, he aims for the infirmary.

“What makes you believe I succeeded?”

“I know you well enough to discern, from your eyes, whether you’re experiencing a good day or a bad day.”

Manuela’s infirmary is in sight.

“You came to welcome me. That made my day naturally better.”

Ferdinand stops in his tracks and looks down. Hubert is hiding his face in his shirt. 

Would a kiss be unwelcome? If he lowers his neck, he can brush his lips against Hubert’s raven hair. Would Hubert like it?

“Ferdinand? Hubert? What are you two doing here?” Manuela’s words break their little bubble. Ferdinand hurries inside, makes Hubert lie on one of the beds.

“He’s injured.”

“Oh my.” She examines the slice on his thigh. “That is one mean flesh wound. How did it manage to make you hemorrhage so badly?”

Hubert, of course, doesn’t answer.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She readies a healing spell. “Take off your pants.”

Ferdinand’s face grows as red as a tomato and he flees the room.

Hubert is dismissed in the afternoon. Ferdinand brings him a late lunch; he makes sure to keep a hand on him at all times—on his shoulder, on his arm, on his knee.

*

“I have been working on this project during my spare time.”

Ferdinand guides Hubert outside of the dining hall, into the gardens.

“You made yourself scarce to work on this?” Hubert cocks an eyebrow and Ferdinand feels his face flare up. 

“That’s correct. I hope it will be worth the afternoons I robbed from our… tea time.”

They skirt the dormitories and reach the training grounds—then take a sharp left, up a staircase.

“...the sauna?” Hubert’s eyes glimmer with interest.

Ferdinand takes a key from his breast pocket and unlocks the door. “After you.”

The beautiful marble of the small reception makes the simple room feel luxurious, despite the small size. 

“It was in bad shape when I started working on it.” They never performed any sort of maintenance during the war. “I learned how to properly clean it. I learned about the wondrous hydraulic works of Garreg Mach.”

Ferdinand takes his hand and pulls him towards the men’s changing rooms, the right door of the two.

“Did you know that the mechanism that keeps the sauna working is actually one of Rhea’s puppets, enslaved to cast Fimbulvetr and Fire? It gave me quite a scare, but it’s not aggressive.”

Hubert has a strange look on his face, one that Ferdinand doesn’t know how to decipher yet. It’s a _ good _look, that much he knows.

“I actually learned how to cast Fire myself. The room underneath doesn’t have lights.”

“You restored the entirety of this place… for me?”

“Of course! You have earned some much needed time off.” Ferdinand pulls two clean towels from an overhead shelf. He didn't restore the sauna to see Hubert in a state of undress, _ of course _, but it’s an added benefit of his little gift. “Both the hot bath and sauna are working. Which one shall we enjoy today?”

“The hot bath.”

Ferdinand nods and takes off his coat. 

He has carefully prepared what to say up until that point. The rustling of his clothes feels loud, and makes him painfully aware of the silence between them. He can feel Hubert’s eyes roam on his body, and that makes his hands shake. He undoes the first button of his undershirt—which proves to be a challenge—looking at a tile on the ground. He doesn’t dare look up and face Hubert.

“I will take the other changing room.” Hubert takes one of the towels and walks out of the changing room with a swirl of his cape.

Ferdinand starts breathing again. What is happening to him? Is he having doubts? Hubert called him _ attractive _ . He _ wants _it, they both do. Moreover, he has done worse things to Hubert in his dreams.

He undresses quickly, fingers now steady, and wraps his towel around his waist. He collects his hair in a loose bun on his nape—it’s a good look on him, relaxed and vaguely disheveled.

He’s the first one in the baths. He knocks on the wall and reveals a hidden panel. With the push of a button, the bath fills with melted Fimbulvetr water in the span of seconds. It’s quite impressive, considering it’s as big as one of the second floor offices. The gurgling water echos between the walls, almost deafening. Pretty ribbons of steam rise from the surface and envelop his body in warmth.

Ferdinand stops the water flow and covers the panel.

The towel is for drying their bodies, not hiding them. He leaves the piece of fabric on a bench and climbs into the warm bath. The scalding water is a welcome distraction, painful yet soothing. If he sits, his shoulders and head are just outside of the water. His hair is already drenched, but alas.

When Hubert appears, pale and beautiful and naked under the towel, Ferdinand’s noble resolve is shattered. His eyes wander shamelessly from the wide shoulders to the tuft of hair peeking from the towel. 

Ferdinand overestimated himself. He crosses his legs to hide his arousal, staring as Hubert combs his hair back.

“Already in?”

“Careful, the water is scalding.”

Hubert chuckles. “Just how I like it.” He abandons the towel somewhere and climbs inside. Ferdinand respectfully looks the other way—to keep his composure. “You did a wonderful job.” Hubert’s voice is low, amplified by the treacherous room. The praise goes straight to Ferdinand’s shamefully hidden erection.

“I am glad. I will teach you how to operate it.”

“Later, with pleasure.”

Ferdinand nods. His body is burning with anticipation, hotter than the water; he feels almost dizzy. Hubert crawls next to him—a famelic beast stalking his prey. Ferdinand is glad to be prey, if it means satiating his desires.

Hubert places two fingers on his chin and gently makes his head turn to face him. His touch takes Ferdinand’s breath away.

“You are terrified.” There is kindness in his words.

“I am.” Before Hubert can misinterpret, Ferdinand turns his whole body towards him and hides his face in the crane of the other man’s neck. He can smell his cologne, a tinge of sweat, the deep aroma of coffee. “I crave this with my whole being, yet inexperience makes me doubt myself.”

“Do you want this?” Hubert places a hand on his thigh, underwater—on his thigh!—and starts stroking the thumb over his skin. His fingers roam, appreciative.

“I do. I want it.” Ferdinand places his hands on Hubert’s shoulders and props himself up, finally able to take a close look at the other man’s face. His beautiful skin glistens with steam; Ferdinand will never have enough of those sharp cheekbones, of the velvet words hidden behind those lips. Hubert’s amber eyes are glossy with emotion. “I need it.” Ferdinand can’t stop looking at his lips, wants to feel them against his own.

Hubert graces him with his rare half smile, devilish and devious. “Take it.”

He is not going to kiss him. Ferdinand is the one who needs to do it. How cruel! Compelled by the knot in his chest, he pushes himself upwards and brushes his lips against Hubert’s. A soft touch, an innocent touch while is mind is roaring and wants more.

“Was this your first kiss, Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand kisses him again. And again. And again. His hands cup Hubert’s face as he is overcome with fervor and the need to kiss him everywhere. On his lips, on his cheek, on his forehead, on his nose, on his lips again…

He can’t believe it. Hubert, dark and beautiful Hubert, devoted and hard-working, dangerous and humorous, is under him, warm and inviting.

Hubert chuckles and lifts him up to make Ferdinand straddle him. His hands roam his thighs and he parts his lips. “Kiss me deeper now.”

His kisses become feverish, sloppy. Hubert’s tongue slides in his mouth and it makes him moan, makes his ache with pleasure. He’s pressed flush to Hubert’s chest, their erections touching.

“How kind of the Goddess we defied to bless me with the most infuriatingly beautiful man in all of Fódlan.” That takes Ferdinand’s breath away. He writhes in Hubert’s arms, overwhelmed by passion. “You were breathtaking at your lowest… despair suits your pretty features like nothing else.” Hubert explores Ferdinand’s tan body for the first time, kneading muscles with his demanding fingers. “I want to bring you to your highest, see ecstasy desecrate your face.”

Without a warning, Hubert squeezes his ass and Ferdinand moans, shamelessly. “More…”

Finally, Hubert’s hand grips the erection that has been neglected for so long. “Your cries please me. Let me hear them…”

The world flashes white hot while his spend ribbons in the water.

When Ferdinand opens his eyes, he’s lying on something hard. A bench? Steam floats gently in the air.

“Finally awake.”

His feet are propped on Hubert’s legs. He is indeed lying on the bench of the baths.

“Hubert? What happened?”

“It appears you fainted.”

Ferdinand’s mouth makes a perfect O. He covers his face with his hands. He fainted!

Hubert slides on the floor and crouches next to him. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind Ferdinand’s ear. “It seems we must take things slowly, for your heart.”

“I am—”

“Do not apologize.” Hubert’s cheeks are flushed red as well. “I can hide my inexperience better than you, but… taking things slowly might be good for my heart as well.”

“It was your first… intimate encounter as well?” It didn’t look like it…

Hubert nods. Is he being… bashful? Ferdinand wants to kiss him, so he does. 

Hubert doesn’t flee. “The first of many.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hubert feels complex to understand, yet easy to write; Ferdinand is the opposite. Some of these fragments were planned with Hubert's point of view in mind, but I kept them to add flavor. I went for a more elaborate style than usual, I hope it works.


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